


Life is Strange - Septiplier

by PrettyOddWasTaken



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game), Youtube RPF, jacksepticeye - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Don't take my word on it, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, I think I've tagged this properly, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5297774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyOddWasTaken/pseuds/PrettyOddWasTaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is Strange with Mark as Max and Jack as Chloe. Literally, that's it.<br/>Posted with the intent to encourage me to finish NaNoWriMo this year</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mark blinked as he woke up, confused as to why he could feel water on his face. He couldn’t remember being outside but opening his eyes, he was proved otherwise. The floor of a forest lay mere inches away from his face, the dirt and mud no doubt covering his cheeks. He could hear a storm going on around him, the pounding rain and worrying sway of the trees furthering his discovery. Why couldn’t he remember how he got here?  
Mark stood up shakily, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so. His clothes were clinging to his skin, soaked through with the rain. His head snapped towards a tree, staring at it accusingly before realising that it was just the wind whistling. Calming his racing heart, Mark looked around, noticing the light of the lighthouse filtering through the trees.   
He would be safe there, right? Lighthouses were made to withstand storms, he would be safe there. That was, if he made it there.  
Mark held up his hand to block his face, the wind continuously blowing debris into his eyes as he slowly made his way towards the lighthouse. It was just his luck he was fighting against the wind. Mark kept looking around as he walked, knowing that a forest was not a good place to be during a storm – trees were never quite as sturdy as they looked. God, he hoped he would be able to make it to the lighthouse. He was fucked otherwise.  
Mark’s breath was torn out of his as he looked to one side. There was no way in Hell that he was seeing what he was seeing. A giant tornado filled the rest of his vision, mostly obscured by trees. Mark wasn’t aware it was possible for something to be that big but at least it explained the storm that was going on around him. Mark didn’t think the lighthouse would be able to withstand that but he was going to give it a shot.   
Mark tried not to think about it as he walked up the wooden steps, using all of his attention of not slipping. Water and wood was a lethal combination and Mark refused to be killed by something so simple when there was a freakishly large tornado nearby.   
Mark nearly cried with relief as he reached the top of the cliff, the lighthouse only a few feet away from him. From here he had a full view of the tornado, showing it was much bigger than he’d originally thought. And it was heading straight towards Arcadia Bay, only a matter of time before it completely wiped out the small town and everyone in it.  
“Holy shit” Mark breathed out, the situation to absurd for him to even think about being crazy for talking to himself.  
Mark couldn’t tear his eyes away from the destruction, the swirling vortex of shades of grey, carrying shards of wood and other debris into the air, sending them into orbit around it. Mark was transfixed. Mark barely had time to flinch before a small boat was being flung towards him, crashing into the lighthouse behind him. Mark put his hands up to protect himself on instinct, chunks of the lighthouse falling down, careening towards the ground where Mark was standing. 

 

Mark woke up with a start, sitting up so quickly it made his head spin. Blinking to try and focus his vision, Mark looked around. Everything was okay. He was in class. Everything was okay. Mark repeated those words to himself until his heart resumed its normal pace. That dream was so ridiculously surreal.  
“Alfred Hitchcock famously called film, “little pieces of time” but he could be talking about photography as he likely was” Mr Jefferson spoke in the background but Mark wasn’t listening, still glancing around the classroom. The clock displayed 10 to 4. Mark watched as Stella dropped her pencil from across the room, quietly picking it back up.   
“These pieces of time can frame us in our glory and our sorrow; from light to shadow; from colour to chiaroscuro…” Mark’s attention was drawn by Taylor throwing a ball of paper at Kate.   
“Now, can you give me an example of a photographer who perfectly captured the human condition in black and white?” Vic’s phone rang, vibrating across the table but Mark was to preoccupied with his thoughts to pay it much attention. He knew he didn’t fall asleep and that storm definitely didn’t feel like a dream.  
“Diane Arbus” Vic replied, his hand going up after he had given the answer. Jefferson didn’t seem to mind.  
“There you go, Vic! Why Arbus?”  
“Because of her images of hopeless faces. You feel like, totally haunted by the eyes of those sad mothers and children” Mark knew he should be paying attention but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, instead focusing on the photo on his desk. It was his photo and Mark hated it. How could he have even thought it was good? There was no way he could show this to Mr Jefferson.  
“She saw humanity as tortured, right? And frankly, it’s bullshit” A small giggle went around the class “Shh, keep that to yourself. Seriously though, I could frame any one of you in dark corner, and capture you in a moment of desperation. And any one of you could do that to me. Isn’t that too easy? Too obvious? What if Arbus chose to capture people at the height of their beauty or innocence? She had a brilliant eye, so she could have taken another approach.”  
“I have to admit, I’m not a big fan of her work. I prefer … Robert Frank.”  
“Me too, Vic. He captured the essence of post-war, beat America. And there was honestly about the economic conditions of the era but a beauty in the struggle. You don’t have beauty without a beat. Which explains why Frank was Kerouac’s photographic muse and both were the great chroniclers of the 1950s. Well… We’ve all seen that iconic shot of Kerouac on the balcony – and if you haven’t, shame, shame – capturing the romantic urban solitude of the 20th century poet. You dig? Now, contrast Frank’s stark Americana, with Salvador Dali’s surrealist photographs. Like Cocteau, he was a true renaissance man, and his famous self-portraits are famous early examples of that truly awful word you pesky kids love so much, the “selfie”… And it’s a great tradition, and I wholeheartedly fight for your right to self-expression. Or selfie-expression. Heh, sorry, I know. So if anybody wants to question the portrait as modern narcissism, they could go back hundreds of years-”   
Mark was so done with this lecture, especially now that it seemed that it was just a conversation between Mr Jefferson and Vic. Plus, his camera was just there on the desk and Mark had never been one to resist the temptation of a photo. He wasn’t the Selfie King of Blackwell for nothing. And considering Jefferson was talking about selfies, Mark figured it was appropriate. And it would be perfect for his portfolio… “Shh, I believe Mark had taken what you kids call a “selfie” … A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Mark… has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800s. Your generation was not the first to use images for selfie-expression. Sorry. I couldn’t resist. The point remains that the portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it’s been around. Now Mark, since you’ve captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”  
Shit. Mark should have seen that one coming. He also probably should have read the chapters in his textbook. Mark often wondered how he managed to get himself into these situations. He felt like Jefferson had told them this before but couldn’t remember for the life of him.  
“I did know! But I kinda forgot” Mark stumbled out. There was nothing he hated more than being asked questions in class. Especially when he couldn’t remember the answers. Especially in front of one of the best teachers in the school (who just so happened to be one of Mark’s favourite photographers).  
“You either know this or not, Mark.” Jefferson said, slamming his hand down on a desk causing Jack to flinch. “Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?”  
“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created “daguerreotypes” a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror,” Of fucking course Vic knew the answer. Anything to show off to Mr Jefferson. “Now you’re totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Sad face.”  
“Very good, Vic. The Daguerreian Process brought out the fine detail in people’s faces, making them extremely popular from the 1800s onward. The first American daguerreotype self-portrait was done by Robert Cornelius. You can find out all about him… In your textbook. Or even… online.” Jefferson’s speech was cut off by the bell ringing loudly, signalling the end of the lesson. As much as Mark liked Jefferson, he didn’t want to spend an extra second in this classroom.   
“And guys don’t forget the deadline to submit a photo in the “Everyday Heroes” contest.” Mark was so sick of hearing about that Goddamn contest. He really didn’t want to submit a photo anymore. Even if the prize was amazing, it didn’t change the fact everything he took looked terrible. “I’ll fly out with the winner to San Francisco where you’ll be feted by the art world. Its great exposure and it can kick start a career in photography. So Stella and Alyssa, get it together. Taylor don’t hide, I’m still waiting for your entry too. And yes Mark, I see you pretending not to see me.”  
Mark sighed as he stood up and collected his things, slowly enough that most of the class had already left. Mark hated being caught in the rush and he didn’t have another class to go to. Mark noticed that Kate was still sat in her seat, head down staring at the table. They’d became quite good friends in the time that Mark had been at Blackwell and he hated seeing her upset. Kate was such a sweet girl, she didn’t deserve the bullying she got. Nobody did.  
Mark looked over to where Vic was talking to Mr Jefferson, he never wasted a second in kissing ass. Mark shook his head, choosing to go talk to Kate. She looked like she could use someone to cheer her up.   
“Hi, Kate” Mark said, coming to stand next to Kate’s chair. Kate looked up surprised, clearly too lost in her thoughts to have noticed Mark’s presence.   
“Oh, hi Mark”  
“You seem quiet today” Mark said, concerned for his friend. Kate’s hair was messy and the deep bags beneath her eyes were hardly healthy. A permanent frown seemed to have settled on her face the past few days.   
“Just thinking too much…” Mark knew that was never a healthy habit to get into.   
“I hear that. Want to go grab a cup of tea and bitch about life?” Mark said. Sometimes just being with someone and complaining was incredibly therapeutic.   
“Thanks, but not today. I have to go over homework” Now Mark definitely felt sorry for her.  
“No worries. Let’s hang later.”  
“Sure.” Mark didn’t quite feel comfortable leaving Kate alone but he couldn’t force her to talk. He also knew that sometimes people need to work through things themselves. Leaving Kate alone, Mark went to leave the class but the paper ball caught his eye. Crouching down to pick it up, Mark straightened out the page, immediately feeling the temptation to rip it to shreds just reading the words:  
“Dear Kate, We love your porn video xoxo Blackwell Academy”   
The bitches even had the nerve to put hearts. Mark really wished he’d never read it. Mark shook his head, this finger’s brushing over the table he was standing next to, feeling grooves under his fingertips. It wouldn’t be college if the tables weren’t graffitied with engravings.   
RACHEL AMBER <3 4EVER  
Mark had to admit it did look cool. Cool enough to get a photo of. Mark wasn’t even ashamed to get his camera out, this was a photography classroom after all. He could hear Vic’s conversation with Mr Jefferson from here.   
“I just worked so hard on this shot, and I’m sure you know what it’s like to be consumed-” God did Mark not care, and by the look on Mr Jefferson’s face, neither did he. Mark knew he should talk to Mr Jefferson about his photo and there was no better time than now.  
“Excuse me, Mr Jefferson, can I talk to you for a moment?” Mark asked, acting as though Vic wasn’t there. Vic had done the same thing to him multiple times and Mark could do the exact same.   
“Yes, excuse you” Vic snapped, his tone nothing short of snobby.  
“No, Vic, excuse us” Mr Jefferson said, his tone as clipped as Vic’s had been. Mark wanted a picture of the look on Vic’s face. “I’d never let one of photography’s future stars avoid handing in his picture”  
“Do I have to? I just don’t think it’s that big a deal” Mark said, shuffling his feet. Talking to teachers always made him nervous and he knew what he just said was the opposite of what Mr Jefferson wanted to hear.   
“Mark, you’re a better photographer than a liar… Now I know it’s a drag to hear some old dude lecture you… but life won’t wait for you to play catch-up. You’re young, the world is yours, blah blah blah, right? But you do have a gift, you have the fever to take images, to frame the world only the way you envision it. Now, all you need is the courage to share your gift with others. That’s what separates the artist, from the amateur.”  
Well, that was Mark’s cue to leave.   
Mark missed the cool classroom environment the moment he stepped into the crowded corridor, everybody’s separate conversation assaulting him at once. Mark leaned against the wall, taking a moment to calm his breathing and get his headphones from his pocket. He probably looked like Hell.   
A trip to the bathroom was definitely in order. He should splash some water on his face or something. That usually worked in movies, right? Mark could feel people staring as he walked down the corridor but he knew it was just his anxiety telling him that. Forcing himself to ignore it, Mark walked as quickly as was considered normal to the bathroom, luckily finding it empty. Nobody could see his meltdown except for him. Good.  
Mark sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror. He could actually pass for a zombie for how dead he looked, his skin paler than usual and his eyes sunken in. He should definitely sleep more. Mark turned his attention back to the task at hand, turning on the tap and splashing his face with the water. It helped him look better, of only marginally.   
Mark sighed, taking his photo out of his pocket, staring at it in his hands. He tried to remember Jefferson’s words. He should stop torturing himself. He has “a gift.” Mark was having trouble believing that.  
Fuck it. Mark tore the picture in two, scraps of Polaroid fluttering to the floor, instantly being coated in filth and split water. There was no recovering it now. Mark’s attention was captured by movement to his left and for a moment he was worried that someone was in with him. Looking over, Mark saw it was only a butterfly flying in through the open window. It was beautiful, its wings nearly glowing with how blue they were.   
Mark followed it around a cubicle, seeing it settle on a bucket. He wasn’t going to get another opportunity like this again. Pulling out his camera as quietly and slowly as he could, trying not to scare it off, Mark crouched down for the shot. Mark lined up his camera, snapping the shot quickly. The flash startled the butterfly, scaring it away. Mark checked the picture as it came out, thankfully that it actually came alright. He might have cried if he wasted the opportunity.   
Mark was startled as the door slammed the moment he put his camera away. Someone was in the bathroom. Mark didn’t know whether to announce his presence or not. He could hear them checking the other cubicles, the doors swinging on their hinges. If the person didn’t want people in here, Mark figured it’d be best not to announce himself.  
Mark peered around the corner of the cubicle, making sure as little of his was visible as possible, as he heard mumbling. It was Nathan. Mark was definitely not going to come out of hiding now.   
“It’s cool, Nathan… Don’t stress… You’re okay, bro. Just count to three…” And Mark thought he had problems. “Don’t be scared… You own this school… If I wanted, I could blow it up… You’re the boss…” Nathan was definitely fucking crazy.   
Both Mark and Nathan looked to the door as it opened, one of the prettiest guys Mark had ever seen stepping though. Mark didn’t know how pretty was a word that could be used to describe him, he was a punk with tattoos down his arms and neon green hair under his beanie. Nathan didn’t seem too happy to see him.  
“So what do you want?” Nathan asked.  
“I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step-ass would say. Now, let’s talk business-” The guy said, his Irish accent prominent, as he checked the cubicles again. Mark retreated further into the corner as they came closer. This was not something Mark wanted to be caught listening to.  
“I got nothing for you” Nathan cut him off. The guy turned around immediately, irritation clear in his eyes.  
“Wrong. You got hella cash.” Mark should never have even come into the bathroom in the first place.  
“That’s my family, not me” Nathan pointed out. The damn butterfly was still on one of the sinks nearby. Mark thought it would have gone by now.  
“Oh boo hoo, poor little rich kid” Mark had to bite his hand to stop the laugh. It was about time somebody stood up to Nathan. “I know you been pumping drugs and shit to kids around here…” The guy suddenly got up close in Nathan’s face. “I bet your respectable family would help me out of I went to them. Man, I can see the headlines now-”  
Mark knew the moment he said that it was a mistake.  
“Leave them out of this, bitch”  
“I can tell everybody Nathan Prescott is a punk ass who begs like a little girl and talks to himself”  
That was the last straw for Nathan, he lashed out, pulling away from the guy to put a gun in his place. The guy soon realised his mistake.  
“You don’t know who the fuck I am or who you’re messing around with!” Nathan threatened, bringing the gun up to rest between the guy’s eyes. Mark could feel the fear rising in him. There was no way this could end well. No way at all. But he was too shocked and scared to do anything.   
“Where’d you get that? What are you doing? Come on, put that thing down!” The guy begged, his hands coming up in surrender. He had definitely fucked up royally. Nathan was actually unstable. Nathan got close to the guy, forcing him against the door with one of Nathan’s hands above his head, the gun pointed at his stomach.   
“Don’t EVER tell what to do. I’m so SICK of people trying to control me!” Nathan screamed.  
“You are going to get in hella more trouble for this than drugs” The guy threatened. Mark doubted it would help him in anyway.  
“Nobody would ever even miss your “punk ass” would they?” Nathan said, ignoring the guy’s warning.  
“Get that gun away from me, psycho!” The guy screamed, trying to shove Nathan off him. A bang sounded through the room, echoing off the walls until it was echoing in Mark’s ears. He couldn’t stop the shout that escaped him, watching the guy fall to the ground, a pool of blood already forming and staining his shirt. Mark put his arm out, trying to stop it even though there was nothing he could do. They world seemed to be in slow motion, Nathan dropping the gun in horror, stepping away from the guy’s body. Mark blinked as the gun hit the floor.  
And he was back in class.


	2. Chapter 2

“Get that gun away from me, psycho!” The guy screamed, trying to shove Nathan off him. A bang sounded through the room, echoing off the walls until it was echoing in Mark’s ears. He couldn’t stop the shout that escaped him, watching the guy fall to the ground, a pool of blood already forming and staining his shirt. Mark put his arm out, trying to stop it even though there was nothing he could do. They world seemed to be in slow motion, Nathan dropping the gun in horror, stepping away from the guy’s body. Mark blinked as the gun hit the floor.  
And he was back in class.  
What the fuck. Seriously what the fuck?  
Mark looked around, both his heart and mind running a thousand miles per hour. He was so confused, how could he be back in class? Was all that just a dream? But it couldn’t be, he woke up from a dream earlier. Mark could feel a tear slid down his cheek.  
He was in the bathroom… Nathan shot that guy… He held up his hand… and then he was back in class.  
The clock showed 10 to 4. Stella dropped her pencil. Mr Jefferson was lecturing about little pieces of time. Kate was being hassled again. If Vic’s phone rang, Mark had to admit this was real.  
Mark flinched at the sound of it vibrating across the table, his hand flying, accidentally knocking his camera off the table. Shit, Mark thought, watching as his camera shattered into pieces across the floor. There was no way he could fix that.  
Unless...  
No, that would be completely crazy. There was no way he could actually reverse time. No way in hell. Mark breathed deeply, thinking back to in the bathroom. He raising his hand, and he was back in class. Trying to keep his breathing steady, Mark slowly raised his arm up, knowing he was going to look insane if this didn’t work. Maybe he was.  
Mark tried to focus, the world around him blurring. Everything seemed to be happening too fast and too slow at the same time, a haze covering Mark’s eyes – or maybe it was just inside his head. Mark looked down at his camera, watching as it lifted off the ground, its broken pieces fitting back together and landing neatly on his desk. All in one piece.  
Mark looked down at his hands and back to his camera. Did he really just do that? Mark had to remind himself not to freak out. Mark was still struggling to believe that this was reality, ignoring the lecture for a second time, staring at his camera. When Mark took his selfie earlier, Mr Jefferson asked him a question. If it happens again, Mark will know this is for real.  
Mark flinched as the flash went off, the entire class’s attention being drawn to him. Jefferson started his speech about how he hates the word “selfie”. Mark knew he wasn’t dreaming, the situation suddenly feeling a lot more real. He could go back in time. That guy wasn’t dead yet, could Mark save him? Mark needed to get to the bathroom quickly.  
“Now Mark, since you’ve captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”  
“I’m sorry, I feel sick. May I be excused?” Mark asked, he wasn’t lying. The situation he was in was causing his stomach to stir. He just hoped Mr Jefferson could see how pale he must have been.  
“Nice try, Mark. But you’re not going to get away that easy. We can talk more after class.” Shit, now there’d be no time to save that guy. Mark had to change this. He could rewind time and give Jefferson the right answer, after all Vic had just given him it. That could work.  



End file.
